mortal youth

here,

if i may throw you a bone. here, hold this angelic chagrin of mine, this silently chewing

of cherry cheeks. at the mouth of the universe, the skies are stained whiskey, and we are still children watching the moon follow us home. something somewhere begging us to be rebellious later, to pocket our anger and

make wishes on eyelashes instead. the bodies at the bus stop say i’d rather be in her fast car, chasing down the sun. we’re on the fence. we’re jumping the fence. holding two birds in the fist, and forget the bush. nature despises us. we woke up from starlit dreams to find we were equal to nothing.

and if we’re running out of youth, well, better make it fast. i’m afraid i can’t stand this much longer. we left sacchrine fingerprints all over this place, spilled time like syrup,

left nothing for ourselves but stained sour mouths.

now we punch in our teeth to cover up the kisses. don’t you see?

i’m too foolish to be memorialized. and the gaps between your fingers: will they remember me? let’s hope not. best leave ourselves untraced. you know how these things go; greek tragedies, et cetera. these are not safe spaces, not for our dreaming hearts.

we will go out burning, flooding, swimming in ourselves.

traversing the disasters of our bodies. here, you are home. here, you are everything.

the sky falls, or watches us fall. it doesn't matter much anymore.